A Letter To My Younger Self

Forgive yourself for not knowing what you didn’t know before you learned it. This is a phrase that is on repeat in my mind. This is a letter to myself. My younger self. The little kid from a small town who didn’t know how his life would turn out. The confused boy who were isolating long before it was ‘cool’. Distraught and alone. The abused, physically, emotionally, and otherwise. The young me that didn’t think I would be here today to write this.

This is for you.

Ever since you can remember, you were alone. Alone in a house, that was rarely filled with people. Alone at school where you were surrounded by so many. Alone in your thoughts, that echoed so many negative connotations on a daily basis. Stuck in your own prison cell, day in and day out – you did everything you could to survive.

I remember how you used to be forced to do tedious tasks for absolutely no reason. “Dig a hole here” he said as you proceeded to do it for the entire day, “No I want it one meter to the left” as he proceeded to tell you the next day.

When you would sit down for a break, ready to pass out from exhaustion, you would always sit in silence… listening for the footsteps as you knew that something terrible would happen if you were caught ‘slacking’. Oh, and btw, those days you cried your little eyes out from being itchy and your throat closing up? Allergies. You actually have severe dust and grass allergies. You weren’t faking it like you were made to believe.

I remember how you would ride your little bicycle to school in the middle of winter, with your fingertips blood red when you got to school.

But one of the biggest things I remember so clearly was how a smile on your little face meant that you were not productive and you were forced to do something to take the smile off your face.

I remember your skinny little body with ribs sticking out and how at school teachers would pull you aside to ask “are you okay?” … but who cared right? I could lie.

I remember how you got a weekend job where you earn a bit of pocket money and you managed to escape your reality for a few hours every weekend, but I also remember how you had to use that pocket money for school supplies because the conversations started getting uncomfortable at home when you asked for the basics. Your basics fell underneath the daily beer, cigarettes, and pain powders. You were not the priority.

You were a fighter although you were broken. From the day of the abuse, you tried to erase to the day of the confrontation when you finally built up the courage to use your voice, you kept going, you kept trying.

“You are just a snot-nosed wet behind the ears child, how could you possibly even remember what happened,” she said. That’s all she said. Until today. That is all she said.

As you entered puberty you met Mr depression. Hand-in-Hand the two of you grew up together. He was your friend and you were his. From romanticizing death to physical infliction of pain by the blade. You were not okay, and everyone chose to look the other way.

The abused, the hermit, the one that was always to blame. The rebellious, the shameful, the sissy boy who was always lame. No one else saw, what you saw. No one else heard what you heard. No one else felt what you went through… because the front cover of a shiny book always looks pretty when people are observing it. It won’t ever reveal the twists and turns of the actual truth as the truth lies deep underneath the cover. Once you are nose deep into a chapter, that is when you would see it. But who cared enough to actually take a look?

Did you need praises? Did you need Love? No, you just needed to be a kid. You just needed to be a damn kid.

I remember how you did your martial arts, and you were so damn proud of every single moment of it. But I also remember how for your black belt, the most important part of it all… the part you were working towards, for months. That part almost got pulled away from you as suddenly, all the funds were withdrawn and with it all the support. But you didn’t give up. You fought back. You got the money. You got the funds. You fought back and you did it. I will never understand how one of your greatest achievements was almost lost because of how you were left to fend for yourself once again. You didn’t give up though.

Do you still remember the day the migraines started? It took me so many years before I pieced it all together. It was the day you, a mere child, did not know how to drill a hole into a wall. Encouragement, a teachable moment, a bonding experience, all things it could have been but instead it was the moment that a back end of a drill would be smashed against your head until you cried so much that you had no voice left. But apparently, it was fine – because you were over-reacting he said. No one was around that day to be a witness, so why would you have over-reacted, by yourself? – PS: We still trying to fix the migraines, I am sorry.

From being a strategic planner from a young age at school to avoiding the bullies and the lonesomeness to being a master mask wearer to hide and go with the flow to be unseen to avoid the confrontation at home. You grew up quickly and adapted to learn how to survive.

Your teenage years were filled with rage, yet it was not your own. You saw things being thrown, shouting, screaming, and simply put, pure hate. But you were caught in the crossfire regardless.

While you suffered from cystic acne, with no one to care about your self-esteem except yourself, you still fucking tried. He hated you, you hated him. The small town drowned you. Life seemed to hate you, but you always said ‘one day and continued as best you could.

From discovering your sexuality to realizing your religious beliefs. From the day you finally got your voice and you were told you are wrong… You fought back.

They knew you knew… and it scared them.

You did what was needed to finish your schooling, and as soon as it was over, you ran. oh boy did you ran!

Years and years later, still no apologies. You accepted it.

You chose yourself. You chose to fight. You chose to live. Even when your father died, even after everything you had to endure, you were still the scapegoat that was used to make others feel better about their own inadequacies.

Do you know how fucking proud I am of you? You were so scared, with barely anything to your name but you left and you made your life a success. I am proud of you.

Today I chose to write this letter to you. It’s been stuck in my mind for years. This is to say thank you for not giving up. Through the self-harm and the suicide attempts, through the brokenness and abuse, through the loneliness that you felt every single day… you survived.

I am proud of you. I love you. I appreciate you. I respect you. I believe in you.

There are so many things you don’t want to ever talk about again. So many memories that faded away over the years, but the one thing that remains true, is the fact that you will never give up.

You broke those generational curses. You are living your best life. You wear those scars with pride as it is recognition that you went through it and came out a better person. Instead of hate, you fought back with love. You gave me the life you always wished for. I am so fucking thankful for that. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Oh and remember you always wanted to get some tattoos? You got them! The confusion about if or if you are not Pagan? Yup, well, turns out you are! You are even wearing a pentacle… and the boys? LGBTQIA+ baby! That is your community now.

You grew up weird, and you owned it. You still think outside of the box and create a million stories inside of your head, but this time you are loving it. You create memories and adventures. You have helped so many people. You are funny and witty and always have a comeback to whoever says anything to you. (sure technically a trauma response, but hey, let’s take this for a win instead!)

You are kind and you are loved. Loved by yourself.

Life was never easy for you. But starting today, and for every day after today, I will be sending you love. You are blessed and you have such an amazing life ahead of you.

Keep trying. Keep pushing. Keep going. You can do it.

… and for those who did you harm? You don’t owe anyone forgiveness. You owe yourself instead of the opportunity to be able to live up to your full potential without having to worry about others’ experiences about their own life that no longer affect you.

Love you my little younger self. I know right now, you really don’t know how to love yourself. Therefore, I will make sure that I am doing it for you. For us both.

PS: We no longer eat animals – that one is going to hit you hard, but for all the right reasons. We still love devouring some lemons and apparently you are Pan… but that’s a story for another day little moonchild. Cannot give away too much of our life now can we?

Look out for the signs of love I am sending you across time and space. Believe in magick. Believe in yourself. Remember, hate is always foolish and love is always kind.

See you in our dreams.

With all the love in the universe. Go little rock star!

Your future self.

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